


The proposal

by ChocoNut



Series: Wooing his wench [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Marriage Proposal, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25632868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: Supper with Jaime’s family doesn’t go as expected when Cersei gives Brienne an earful of her thoughts. But all's well that ends well, of course, with the day ending in quite an unexpected way.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Wooing his wench [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825348
Comments: 14
Kudos: 94





	The proposal

The day crawled by, or perhaps, it was Brienne’s perception, the hours between morning and supper, dragging along like years, her mind in a constant state of unrest, waiting, expecting, drifting in and out of varying states of imagination. The kiss, if a soft touch on the cheek could be called that, kept flashing in her head, and Jaime’s smile when they had parted company was good enough to leave her with sleepless nights to come. And the lesser she dwelled on their _almost-intimate_ moment that morning, the better, for the very thought of it had her blushing like a lady—something she had, until now, associated with the prettier and daintier of her sex.

As evening rolled into dusk and further, and mealtime approached, she examined herself more often than was necessary in the mirror, smoothening her dress and pressing down her hair, ensuring nothing was amiss or out of place.

When Jaime met her at the entrance of the hall, her palms went cold and her feet grew numb. She couldn’t meet his eyes. She couldn’t _not_ feel his presence, either, when he leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Blue is a good colour on you, my lady,” his breath ghosting her skin. “It goes well with your eyes.”

“Septa Donyse—”

“I know.” His appreciative gaze wandered, lazily taking in every inch of her. “I was the one who requested she attend to you.” His fingers grazed hers. “A job well done, I must say, for you look beautiful, wench.”

Brienne felt the blood rush to the roots of her hair. No one had ever paid her such a compliment before, the word _beauty_ wearing an entirely different meaning when used in her context. And she didn’t know how to respond. “Whatever happened to ‘ _you’re much uglier in daylight’?_ ” she teased, instead, hoping that would ease her tension.

Jaime led her inside. “That part of me no longer remains. Just like my hand.”

Supper with the royal family didn’t sound as formidable when she’d been invited as it felt now. All eyes were on her. Lord Tywin, hawk-like and observant, spent the hour studying her, as if reading more into what she spoke, _seeing_ past her. Tyrion, warm and friendly and keen to make her acquaintance eased her into a conversation. Sansa, cold and distant, her mind elsewhere, sat quietly, lost and listless. The king and his intended were in a world of their own whilst Prince Tommen stayed close to his mother who, Brienne noticed, was keeping a close watch on her all the time.

Every time she glanced across the table, Cersei’s eyes were on her, her icy glare slowly leeching away the warmth Jaime’s flattering words had filled her with. A gnawing sensation took birth within her, growing as the minutes ticked by, every glance from the queen, a dagger to her heart, an accusation that she had encroached upon something out of bounds and not hers to claim.

So intense was the loathing in her eyes, that Brienne was certain it couldn’t bode well for her. She could barely eat, sitting there and keeping a calm countenance becoming a chore, and when the ordeal was over, she got up, relieved.

“Good night, Ser Jaime,” she mumbled, and before he could reply, fled to the door.

“Lady Brienne.”

The commanding note in the soft voice and the cutting edge of jealousy told her she was in for a great deal of unpleasantness. “Your Grace,” she courteously replied, and waited for the blow to fall.

“You’re a guest, my lady,” she smoothly pointed out, “and while guests are welcome to dine with us, it is prudent they do not overstay their welcome.”

 _Stay away from my brother,_ it meant, her warning, loud and clear.

“I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your warmth and welcome, Your Grace,” Brienne graciously acknowledged, her voice careful and composed. But inside, she was a raging storm.

“Has my brother asked you to marry him?”

“He has, Your Grace.”

“And have you consented to his proposal?”

Brienne shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Good.” Cersei relaxed, relief washing over her. “I’m sure you’re wise enough to present him with the right answer at the earliest. You can't keep him waiting forever, can you?” Her lips thinned in a smile. “I'm also certain that you can swear to me that you will turn him down.”

“I will do no such thing.” Brienne had to keep her voice from trembling, her hands from shaking.

Cold fury took over every inch of Cersei’s pretty face. “Have you erred like most other women do when it comes to my handsome brother?” She narrowed her eyes, cringing at the idea. “Have you too fallen in love with him, Lady Brienne?”

_Yes._

She took in a deep gulp of air.

_A thousand times yes._

She had to collect her words before answering.

_I love him. More than my life, more than—_

“Jaime might be in awe of you,” Cersei continued, her tone getting softer, more menacing. “He might even be attracted to you—” she exhaled, lips pressed in distaste “—or, perhaps, might want to bed you, even—” she glanced down her height, lines of disdain creasing her brow “—but none of this implies he loves you, Lady Brienne—”

“I didn’t say he—” 

“A man might wander, at times, travel across the world,” Cersei curtly interrupted, “but in the end he always returns _home_ , to the one he loves.” 

_Of course. And home is where you are._

“I hope I’m making myself clear, Lady Brienne.”

It was a miracle that Brienne could manage a nod of polite acknowledgement. “I must get back, Your Grace,” she said weakly, the truth hitting her harder than she could defend herself against.

With a quick attempt at a curtsey, she bolted out of there, stopping nowhere, looking nowhere, her mind trapped in a muddle nothing could untangle her from. Cersei was right. All Jaime felt for her was a strong bout of attraction and admiration—the attempted kiss this morning, the warmth he exuded—it was all something that would fade away with time when his loins cooled down. He belonged with his sister, and her arms were where he was meant to be, whereas Brienne was no more than a journey he had been thrown into, a compulsion thrust upon him by his father, a bond that was meant to crash to bits later, if not sooner— 

“My lady.”

She was one step away from slamming the door shut and confining herself within. “It’s quite late, Ser Jaime—”

Pushing past her, he barged in, uninvited, those emerald eyes, keen, seeking answers. “So we’re back to _Ser Jaime_ now.”

“I—” she fumbled, what she was about to say next, refusing to get past her mind and to her lips. “I can’t—”

“—marry me?” He drew closer, jaw set, eyes piercing, but she stayed her ground, stubborn, determined not to cave in. “I overheard the whole conversation, Brienne.”

“Then you must realize that your sister is right,” she said, her voice, steadily getting unsteady. “You must know that—”

“—you love me.” He covered the rest of the ground between them. “That is all I know, wench,” he breathed, leaning closer. “That is all I want to know, everything else that came after it—” His torrid gaze was melting her down, and she stood there, speechless, a bolt— _many_ bolts of desire running through her. She wanted to deny the truth, to scream at him and drive him away, but in his eyes were feelings echoing her own, just as intense, just as honest. “I have been wandering all my life, dedicated and devoted to what I've been thinking was love. Pursuing it, craving for it to last forever, but little did I know that—” His hand was on her neck, his light feathery touch burning her, yet, sending a shiver tingling her nerves. “Cersei did get one thing right.” His fingers drifted down to her shoulder, going further to meet her hand. “A man does, eventually, return home.” He grabbed her hand, gently, yet, firm, and brought it to his heart. “Finding my way home did take time, Brienne, but here I am, standing at your doorstep, hoping, fervently, that you would grant me refuge.”

He spoke no more, and she had no words, her heart swelling, about to burst out of her chest. His hand returning to caress her neck, he kissed her the soft skin beneath her ear, and she closed her eyes. He ran his lips across her cheek, down to her mouth, and she tilted her face closer, breathing his air, taking him in, wanting more. 

He kissed her deeply, like no man had ever touched her, tender and affectionate, hot and heavy, passionate and sensuous—a union she’d only read of in books, close, intimate, bringing them together as one breath, one sensation, one— _everything_. Heat rose in her cheeks when his lips pressed harder against hers, his tongue clinging desperately to hers, his mouth claiming, conquering—giving and demanding, sucking and tasting, needy and generous. She gave in with a soft gasp, and he gave her more, pulling her to his chest, his hand, firm and determined, squeezing into her waist, and she began drowning in him, her lips, her body, her heart—his, and only his. 

When they’d had their fill, Jaime drew away, panting, and with a radiant smile on his lips, he drew his sword. “Yours,” he whispered, presenting it to her.

Awestruck and stunned, she took the weapon with reverence, cradling it as if it were a delicate babe. “This is—I can't—” 

He went down on one knee. “Accept this humble gift, my lady—” he pressed her fingers to his lips “—and my hand, for if you turn down either—”

“ _Oathkeeper_ , it will now be known as,” she gushed, eyes moist, as she helped him back to his feet. “Welcome home, Jaime.” 

He took her in his arms, and tears now escaping the constraints of her eyes, she offered her mouth, their lips meeting, once more, gently, softly, in a tender verse to celebrate the beginning of the soon to be composed song of their union.

**Author's Note:**

> Up next is the wedding. And the rating would go up, of course, because what's a wedding without a wedding night ;)


End file.
